Gone For Good
by LilyGhost
Summary: A Babe beginning told from Joe's POV.


**An embarrassingly long time ago, someone suggested that the song "Back For Good" by Boyce Avenue would make a good Joe POV story. I recently found where I had my idea for it written and finally finished it. Although I'm already thinking of adding Stephanie and Ranger POVs, I marked this complete in case I don't get the chance to write them. Everybody familiar are Janet's. The mistakes are mine.  
**

I sat at my kitchen table and stared at the coffee cup Steph had been sipping out of less than an hour ago. My lips kicked up at the sight of the lipstick left on the rim. It was one of the things we used to fight about ... how the cups and peanut butter jar always had something of hers left on or in it. Now I can smile about it. It's evidence that she's part of my life ... part of this house, even if she purposely walked out it.

I had told her that she was certifiable for going after Baxster Boils, but I didn't mean it the way it came out. He has a mile long rap sheet that includes everything from domestic abuse and arson to aggravated assault, and I didn't want her anywhere near him. But like the jerk she'd called me, I didn't say that. Instead, I said that her actions were stupid and her job pointless if she was going to get hurt, or end up spending more time with the cops than the skip would, every time she went out to do it.

Her eyes narrowed and her back went up. "You know what your problem is?" She'd told me. "You don't really hate my job ..."

"You're wrong about that, Cupcake. I hate your job with a passion," I heard myself say, even though that's not what I'd been thinking.

I hate that she places herself in danger three seconds after waking up in the morning. And if I had to be completely honest, I hate how her eyes light up and her body hums with excitement when she figures out where an FTA is hiding, or is about to discover the missing piece of the puzzle when it came to a case that didn't add up, because she's never once looked at me that way.

"No ... you're actually _jealous_ of my job," she'd accused me, simplifying out loud what I'd said in my head. "You can't stand the fact that a woman won't just plant her ass on your couch, twiddling her thumbs to have something to do until the moment you come home and decide to acknowledge her."

"You don't really believe that ... do you, Steph?"

Our relationship is far from perfect, but what bothered me is that she doesn't see that one of the major reasons I love _her_ is because she isn't like the women I used to date. When she believes in something, she freely goes after it without care or caution, which is why we've lasted as long as we have as a couple despite our past.

We have a long history together, one that isn't all good, but I know we have a real shot at a Burg happily-ever-after if we could just figure out a way to stop sabotaging it by fighting the other on every fucking thing. We're both too stubborn and set in our ways for that, though. And we went right back to misunderstanding each other's words. Or more accurately, _she_ wasn't getting what I'd been trying to say. Steph, however, had been crystal clear in her anger ... and I started getting worried.

"Steph ... listen ..."

"No. I'm done with you and all the crap that comes along with being with you. Lately, you can't go a single day without listing how I've screwed up, joking about how much your grandmother hates me, and agreeing with my mother that I should marry you because no one else will. Have you ever asked yourself why you'd even _want_ to marry me if I'm just going to be an embarrassment to you and your family?"

"I love you, Steph."

"Sure you do ... that's why you can't answer my question."

I'd sighed, leaned my hips against the kitchen counter, and shoved both hands into my hair, forcing myself not to tear any of it out in frustration. Any time we try to work an issue out, it ends badly ... with both of us spitting mad and so determined to be the one who's right, we pretty much just shout over the key relationship points the other is trying to make. How do I make a life work with the only woman I've ever let myself love, when it seems like she can't stand me half the time?

It appears I'm at a loss for a lot of things. My stomach had been - and still is - knotted up with too many emotions all trying to escape at the same time, but I knew I had to do something. I couldn't lose her. Manoso has been sniffing around her more than usual, even getting her to agree to work for his cover company part time. Once _he_ enters her airspace, there's no room left in it for me. A fight like this one is just what he's been waiting on in order to move in. If I could only get my feet out of my mouth long enough to tell her what she _does_ mean to me, and have her pay attention to my feelings rather than how I phrase them, she would never leave me.

Unfortunately, I started the make up session off completely wrong. The last words I said to her before she'd slammed my front door closed between us were ..."I didn't mean whatever I said that hurt you. Just tell me how to fix this, Cupcake. Whatever you need to hear, I'll say."

The look on her face when I stopped talking is one I'll never forget.

"You parroting back what I want you to say won't help you understand why I'm so upset, or make me feel that you understand _me_. It's time we admit the truth, there's no ' _fixing this_ '. Or fixing _us_. I'll miss Bob, but I won't miss what we keep doing to each other."

I have no idea when or _if_ she'll be back, and I'm more than a little concerned that we'd gone too far this time. If she went to Tasty Pastry, I might have a shot at making this argument go away once the sugar hits her bloodstream and she calms down a little. If she goes to Rangeman or to Ranger specifically ... I'm screwed.

"Thanks a whole fucking lot for nothing, Pops," I said to the empty kitchen, in case my dear 'ol dead daddy is hanging around laughing his ass off at me. "The Morelli fuckups are still mounting because of you."

I know I have to take responsibility for some of my actions, but I didn't exactly have a stellar role model growing up, showing me how a real man should act. I've had to struggle on my own to figure it out. And just when I think I'm moving away from the Morelli legacy, Steph is right there to remind me that I still have a lot to learn about being a good boyfriend and possible husband-material.

Not that she's been an ideal girlfriend, but I'm starting to realize that I need her far more than she's ever going to need me. And I may have just fucked up any chance I had of eventually hearing her agree to be my wife.

I shook my head in denial. Despite what she'd said, I _can_ fix this. As long as Ranger doesn't get to her first. He's never hidden his interest in Stephanie, and although I know she's attracted to the supposed 'mystery' of him, she wouldn't toss her self-respect out the window for a man who won't stick around long enough for the sheets on her bed to cool. I should have time to make this right before one of his minionspies informs him of what happened between us.

I picked up my cell, and after staring at the picture of Stephanie on it in the little black dress that drives me crazy, I gave in to the urge to call her. I'll do whatever it takes to get things back to the way they'd been, hand my ass to her if I have to. I'll suck it up and make the first move, be the one to say sorry first if that will make her promise to come back here for good. The call was answered on the first ring, but my relief that she was willing to speak to me so soon after our fight, quickly turned to fear-fueled anger when I heard Manoso's icy voice instead of Steph's equally apologetic one.

"Call her again, Morelli, and you'll be getting a visit from me to discourage another one."

The line went dead.

" _Fuck!_ " I said to the table.

She'd left here pissed off at me and ran straight to that asshole. And damn it if I don't know exactly what'll happen now. He'll 'comfort' her, placate her, and remind her of what I've done to her in the past. Then he'll do his damnedest to keep me away from her.

My mind was rebelling at the thought of him touching her, of that fucker letting her cry on his shoulder for something _I_ did, but I can almost guarantee that _is_ what's going on right now, either in her apartment or his. And it's my own fucking fault. If I would've just celebrated the fact that she got her FTA, told her I was proud of her like the nutcase does, and held her tight instead of letting her walk away, she'd still be here. She wouldn't be wrapped in the arms of someone who can never love her the way I do.

I dropped my head onto the surface of the table and listened to the clock ticking off the seconds of a life I know will be without her. I _could_ fight for her instead of with her, but it'd be a waste of time if Manoso is the one I'm up against. That prick always wins. Stephanie and I will be the only ones losing ... me now and her weeks down the road when he decides to run from a similar relationship to the one he just ruined. There's nothing left for me to do except give up on the idea of Stephanie and I being together for good.


End file.
